Description: As times change, so do people. What is good anymore? When we age, do we continue to live? "Spider" believes that there is no good left in the world, aged and well-versed in the ways of the world. Vince, young and ambitious as he is, believes that good people still exist - and that maybe "Spider" can be one of them.
Over the course of his forty plus years, the Spider has been a lot of things. One of them was a Nazi hunter, chasing anti-Semitic dirtbags all over the world. Germany is familiar to him. As he waits for an old acquaintance in a run down bar in Strolheim, he sits at the end of the bar, brooding as he nurses a Jack and Coke. The wirey, short man is wearing a pair of mirrored aviator shades and is smoking a high-tar Israeli cigarette, simply waiting.
The door to the bar swings open, and a uniquely-clad individual sweeps in. Cape drifting behind him, it's pretty easy to see that he doesn't quite fit in with the general populace. He does, however, fit in a bit with the castle. ...If we were to jump back a couple hundred years. Nevertheless, the ease and self-assured grace he carries himself with would seem to suggest he's completely unaware of how he looks.
And how does he look? Well, that depends on the observer. The general consensus, however, is "weird".
Be that as it may, the young swordsman makes his way to the counter with a pleasant smile on his face. He opens his mouth to order a drink, only for the bartender to immediately bark some rabble about minors or some nonsense. So Vince, before he can even make an order, gets a glass of water placed before him. The smile has turned more to a deadpan. Le sigh.
The Spider looks down at the bar top as Vince enters, and continues looking down, puffing away morosely at his cigarette. He looks up as the bartender puts the glass down, his jaw going slightly slack. The style of dress, the rapier at his side, the /face/...He knows this young man. His slack look is quickly replaced with a sneer, as he stares daggers at Vince from behind his shades.
Vince lifts his mug of cool, frosty.. err.. water, and takes a sip. But eventually, he starts to get that feeling that he's being watched. Vince's head finally turns to the side, catching sight of Monsieur le Spider. ...But he simply gives him a neutral, if not slightly vacant look. Indeed, Vince's mind is elsewhere.
And apparently, he doesn't remember the fiasco. When you've been in as many as this young man has, they tend to blur together.
A few awkward seconds later, and he lifts a hand to tip his hat cordially.
In response to the tip of the hat, the Spider blows a cloud of his particularly noxious smoke in Vince's direction. He taps his cigarette over an ashtray, before he utters a hard, "Shalom." His sneer remains, as the thin line of his mouth tugs to the side in displeasure.
Puff of fumes approaching. Vince deploys his countermeasures!
His eyes squint.
And he coughs once politely. *Kaff!*
"You're not from around here, I suppose," he offers conversationally.
"Neither are you," he replies, before taking a swig of his Jack and Coke. As his hard face contorts briefly and subtly, he adds, "In fact, I seem to think that you're from Southtown. Am I right?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"Mais non," laughs Vince. "I'm from France! The other side of the world, Monsieur!" His head tilts aside just slightly, the feather in his hat drifting. "Though I do attend school in Southtown. Admittedly, not so much since arriving in Strolheim, here." Beat. "Why would you say I'm from Southtown?"
The Spider's brow remains raised. "Because I have a good memory, kid. And it seems to include a punk dressed a lot like you, with a bleed stick a lot like that, messin' around in other people's business. In Southtown. Does this sound...Familiar?"
An eyebrow slowly raises. "...It's called a rapier, Monsieur." Vince releases his glass, the newly freed hand lowering to the hilt of said weapon. "And I wonder what sort of business it was being messed around...?"
The Spider snorts at Vince's judgement. "The kind of business with powerful people involved. The kind...That is dangerous enough without people trying to play hero." He puts his cigarette out in the ashtray. "But that's not important."
"Well, well, well," says Vince humorlessly. Turning to face Spider fully with one elbow propped on the counter, he adds, "If such a thing as that is not important, then what is, praytell?"
"You want an honest answer, kid?" The Spider sips his Jack and Coke, another subtle grimace on his face. He's just started drinking. "Nothing, kid. When you get right down to it, nothing's important. Take me as a voice of experience, kid. Nothing ever matters."
Seeming taken aback by the apparent disinterest, Vince's proverbial heckles are lowered. There's only one thing he can even think of to respond to such a statement.
"Why?"
The Spider snorts again. "Because life is a pointless exercise - an idiot's ruse. A red herring. In twenty years, I'll be dead. You'll be just as dried out as I am. And in a hundred years, everything you give a damn about will be gone. Along with you. And you may ask me, 'But Ari, what if I have kids?' Kids and a wife that'll cut your throat if you don't bring home the bacon, and will eventually shove you in a low tier retirement home where orderlies will steal your money and take a dump in your food. And they call that living." He falls silent again, his facial expression softened.
Vince is in a stunned silence for a long moment before starting to edge closer. "I don't believe that is true. Not all of it, anyway."
"What about your legacy, Monsieur? The people who founded Japan, or Germany. The person who invented the lightbulb. Life is far from pointless. I believe it depends solely on what you do with it. You have to strive for greatness for greatness to occur."
"Legacies are for winners, kid." The Spider takes a deeper draught of his drink, before finishing it off. He waves the bartender down and points at his empty glass, before the keep nods and begins mixing another. Ari returns his attention to Vince. "But us? We're not winners. Being remembered is one in a million if it matters. We're ordinary guys. We'll die in a potter's field with no proof that we ever existed."
The question is repeated. "Why?"
Following another beat, Vince explains a little better. "Why would you say we're losers? The trick to winning is to find what you're good at, and become the best at it. We're given a strict set of skills and hone talents that no one else has, I believe. It's the uniqueness that gives an advantage." Quickly, he adds, "There was no contest between people when it came to declaring Japan a nation. It was simply done by the right person at the right time."
"Why? Why?" The Spider frowns sympathetically at Vince's lack of understanding. "Because I used to be a kid like you. Some punk that listened to what his parents told him, studied hard in school, and decided to serve his country to make the world a better place. And that kid died. All that's left is what you see here. So tell me, kid - what makes you think you'll be any different?"
"Hope. You've given up. But I'll always strive, even if it seems impossible to reach. That's what gives life meaning, Monsieur." Vince inclines his head a bit. "Why did you join the military?" He's assuming that's what he meant by 'serving his country'.
"It was mandatory where I'm from," the Spider says. "But I didn't serve in the military. There'd be honor to that. No, I joined the intelligence services. Went career. Killed hundreds of people through my own actions, and thousands more from plans I helped with. Sometimes the people I died where the same people I tried to help. There's no glory in it. I used to think there were bad guys out there - truth is, there are. There's just no good guys."
This actually gets a soft laugh from Vince. He settles back against the bar and tilts his head with an impish smile. "The trick to -that- is to identify the bad guys, and fight against them. When there seems to be no good guys in the world, that is when they're needed the most. It has to start somewhere, non?"
"The world is only good at the bottom, kid," the Spider says. "Power corrupts. By the time you're a leader, by the time you can make the decisions that matter, you're already dead. You're a walking, talking blasphemy. One day, you're a hero. The next day, you're a megalomaniac. That's the difference between democracy and fascism. Who's in charge. And if you're a democracy, the people that are in charge are stupider than the fascists."
"Sometimes revolution is necessary. But that's why leaders change," Vince offers. "The world changes, as I'm sure you've seen several times over. We just have to change with it to keep the good alive."
"I don't deny that you have to change. In fact, you're right, you /must/ change," the Spider says, as the bartender gives him his next drink. He briefly lowers his sunglasses. "It's the change itself that's deadly."
A puzzled look crosses Vince's face. But seeing the drink cues him to grab his own mug of water, the manliest of beverages. This he swigs from, himself. But afterwards, he tosses out, "How do you mean?"
Ari takes a sip from his fresh drink, that grimace beginning to disappear. "I mean that when you change, you die a little. That person you were before - there's a little less of him. And soon, if you change enough, there's nothing left."
"Nothing? Nothing to keep ahold of, even while you change?," Vince asks. "No creed, no... I don't know, morals to fight for? No ideals to steer you?"
"You haven't seen what time can do, kid," Ari says, lighting up a fresh cigarette with a brass zippo. "You'll compromise. You will. To survive, just like everyone else. It's just a question of how fast. You might luck out - you might die before you lose your integrity."
"Death sounds more welcome than that," Vince replies. "It's our integrity that makes us who we are. If you've lost that, you must find it again to live." He pauses a moment, then decidedly swigs the water again.
"Yes, death is more welcome than that," Ari says. He sucks on his cigarette, before blowing a cloud of smoke to the side. "Death is better than a lot of things." A man steps inside - his gaze connects immediately with the Spider's. The Spider smiles, and rises from the bar, tossing a few dollars down on the countertop. "Excuse me, kid. Gotta earn dinner." The man bolts out the door, and the Spider follows close behind him.
"Just find it again. It's out there - you just have to remem.. ber.." Vince trails, following Spider's gaze to the door - and subsequently the new arrival. He quirks an eyebrow, then looks back to the other man. The other man who seems intent on taking off.
When he does take his leave, Vince simply exhales a sigh and turns his gaze to the mug in front of him. That was different.
Log created on 16:21:15 05/19/2009 by Vince, and last modified on 18:06:34 05/19/2009.